


Defiance

by bluehawthorn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Angry Sex, Asshole Thranduil, Captain of the Guard, Caring Thranduil, Consensual Sex, Couch Sex, Desolation of Smaug, Elvenking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Giant Spiders, Mirkwood, POV Tauriel, Power Imbalance, Rebellion, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Dwarves are in the Dungeon, Thranduil is so Beautiful it Hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehawthorn/pseuds/bluehawthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The exchange between Thranduil and Tauriel over the spiders goes a bit differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defiance

**Author's Note:**

> Now with bonus POV! For invisible Bilbo's perspective on this encounter, see the hilarious mini-fic by Spamberguesa in the comments.

He has rejected her plea to address the spiders at their source with an infuriating unconcern. She cannot understand it, and is bristling with an anger that has built in her over months at a collection of small slights directed at her by the king. She will not be so easily turned aside.

“Why should other lands suffer when we have the might to easily end these foul creatures? A king should think of others besides his own subjects. You keep us safe by hiding us underground when the fortunes of the world are caught in a growing threat. How has your heart grown so unfeeling?”

“You know nothing of what I feel.” He says, casual and unworried at her insubordination, as if it is a small thing and easily forgotten. It enrages her even further. 

“I know well enough. You show all who come before you nothing but disdain. Your lack of feeling makes even those loyal to you fear and hate their king.”

“Nonsense” he says, his tone taking on just the slightest tenor of irritation, and he waves her words away with a gesture of his hand. “People see only what they should...the fitting manner of a king engaged in his duties. I have protected this realm against hardships for millennia and lost more than you can imagine in it. I will lose no more than necessary now. You are a mere child who knows nothing of these matters – who knows nothing of a life long-lived or the burdens of rule. Leave me be.”

But she will not budge. “No.” She spits at him, "I will not be dismissed this time." 

He turns his head slowly towards her, his movements still composed, but with anger flashing bright in his eyes. “You dare to disobey me. I should have you thrown into the dungeons along with those stubborn, mannerless dwarves. It seems they would be fitting company for you to keep.”

She knows it may not be an idle threat but does not care. A tide of defiance has built in her and there is no turning it back, although she can feel a knife’s-edge of danger in the air. “Will you simply turn away everyone who challenges you then? It is a cowardly kind of kingship, is it not?”

She knows she has gone too far, but she is willing to sacrifice herself for this. She wants at least the small victory of destroying the spiders where they breed in Dol Goldur. She is restless and suffocating with the need to do something more against the ever-strengthening evil she senses in the world. She thinks that perhaps if he still refuses and does not lock her up for her rebellion, she will disobey her king more directly and go to the fortress despite him. 

He snarls and moves towards her, rage unfurling across his face, his head thrust forward like a snake about to strike. She nearly flinches, but holds herself still. 

This is what she wants after all. 

For as long as she can remember she has wished to see that cold composure crack, revealing some sort of urgency or emotion underneath. Each time the mask of his indifference - traced only at times with annoyance and impatience - has been turned on her, the rage inside her has festered. She wants this as a kind of revenge, but also, she tells herself, because her people and the people beyond their borders deserve a compassionate and caring king within these walls, not one hardened against anything but the barest letter of his responsibilities. 

“You want to see me feel something? How about this?” He hisses, angrier than she has ever seen or imagined him. 

He has her backed up against the wall of his chamber and is so close that she can feel the heat radiating off him. Every muscle in her body feels weightless with the urge to flee but there is also something else, something liquid and throbbing rising in her belly. 

And then suddenly he kisses her, taking her mouth with his in bruising force. She reels for a moment before pulling back, shaking with shock. She expected the dungeons or even a raised hand, but not this. 

He tastes like the first shoots of new growth in springtime and smells like the earth reawakening beneath the warmth of the sun. 

He stares at her, his brow furrowed and his full lips parted, swollen from the kiss. His breathing is heavy and he is obviously still furious but also seems to be holding back the tension of something much darker and more powerful. He draws his knuckles slowly down her jaw and neck towards her collarbones, watching the movement of his own hand for a moment before moving back and tilting his head to consider her. 

“Very well then. You wanted to break my calm. You have awakened this in me. Will you see it through to completion?” His voice is slow and smooth, even now. It sounds predatory and deliberately weighted.

She understands then how quickly this has escalated, and how high the stakes suddenly are. Despite herself her body reacts, aching with some frightening new thing. Her mind follows close behind, realizing how thin the line has always been between her resentment of her king and a low-burning desire for him. 

How quickly anger spills into lust, rushing along every nerve. She hesitates for a moment and then nods slowly. 

He lifts her instantly off her feet and crushes her to the wall, his hands running down her body hungrily. He pulls up one of her legs and then the other and wraps them around his waist, kissing her until her breath comes only in gasps. 

She is astonished. How is someone who shows so little feeling capable of such immediate passion? Was she truly wrong about her king even after long years in his presence?

He carries her across the room and lowers her down on a couch set back into a small alcove. It is set with lush fabrics and pillows and is deep enough for her to lay down with her legs still wrapped around him and his folded under him as he kneels above her.

“You are sure that you are willing?” he asks, his words low and honeyed, rolling his hips against her so that she can feel his hardness pressing into her flesh. She thinks for a moment of Legolas, and his regard for her that has seemed of late to be more than simply friendship. She has a momentary pang of guilt, to be lying here beneath his father. 

But there is no room for her to return Legolas’ feelings even if she wanted to, and her king is unleashing the full power of his terrible beauty over her. She knows she can only surrender to his will and hope that there will be some victory in it. She spreads her body more open to make room for him. “Yes, my lord,” she breathes. 

“Thranduil” he replies. “Call me by my name.” 

“Thranduil” she moans as he moves against her, his name feeling strange in her mouth after all of these years of calling him by his titles. 

Wrath and desire combined have set his skin alight from within. He is like lightning in his silver-gold glow and the sharpness of his eyes and the quickness of his movements. His hands go to the fastenings of his clothing, every motion almost too fast for comprehension yet also graceful and spare. Not a single firing of muscle is wasted. In barely a moment he is in only his breeches and tunic, his long robes cast aside.

He works on hers as well, removing her corset and leathers, until she too is down to only her underclothes. All the while he somehow manages to still torment her with his mouth, nuzzling and running his teeth over her neck and jaw. She gasps and strains her body up into him, enough layers shed between them now that she can feel the muscles of his chest and arms beneath thin fabric.

She has always known that he has a warrior’s body, forged in battle over centuries. She has watched the strength in his movements and known that it was considerable. What she doesn’t understand is how it remains quite this potent, even through the sedentary demands of stateship. She must work hard and consistently to keep her body strong. She has never seen or known of him training and yet he could overpower her with ease and not only because his limbs are longer or his shoulders broader. 

And he does overpower her, although not with force but with the intensity of his presence. She feels as though her lungs have never known a full breath. She is drowning under his touch.

He presses her down into the couch, his body moving with complete confidence in the pleasure it is dealing hers. The rest of her clothes are pulled away and he stands for a moment to step out of his. He is something beyond words, standing above her naked and proud. He is ageless, possessed of the most regal bearing of his ancestors. He lets her look, knowing full well the affect of his beauty.

And then he is hard on her again, bruising her skin but also making her body sing with a longing she can feel in her bones. She can do nothing except obey every unspoken command he gives with mouth and hands and hips. 

She can feel that his control too is slipping. Yet, somehow there is still a focus and elegance about him even as he ruts against her, a constraint that does not leave him even in the stranglehold of lust.

When her body is so tense with wanting that she can scarcely withstand any more, he reaches down and parts her with his fingers, testing her readiness. Finding her slick with wetness, one side of his mouth rises into just the barest hint of a smile, his eyes burning into hers as he takes her thighs in each of his hands and positions himself at her entrance. 

He pauses for a moment to gauge her consent, but there is no reason she can imagine strong enough for them to turn back now. The truth is, she cannot bear the thought of halting this devastatingly lovely, wretchedly compelling, unexpected thing. She returns his gaze and says, a thread of pleading in her voice, “please, don’t stop”. 

And then he is inside her in one unforgiving thrust and she cries out with the pain and pleasure of it both.

He does not wait for her to grow accustomed to being filled by him; it is all she can do to hold to him as he rides into her. One of her hands is tangled in his long white hair as it falls over her face and shoulders. 

There are noises in his throat that she could never have imagined coming from him. Guttural noises, feral ones. He is thrusting into her again and again and she tilts her pelvis into each forward motion, arching into every bit of friction. She pulls her own knees back to allow him to penetrate her more deeply, feeling his breath catch as she does. 

Eventually he stops, withdrawing slowly from her and then flipping her over and pulling her onto her knees. Keeping her hips angled upward toward him with one hand he pushes the rest of her down onto her elbows with the other, her head bowing toward the couch. 

He slides himself back into her and pleasure shocks through her core. The pace he sets now is less hurried. He slips along her in long steady strokes and she is staggered forward, crying out each time he comes to be fully inside her. 

Eventually he lifts her up against the back of the couch. His long lean body is draped across her back, his hands running up over her stomach and cupping her breasts as he fucks her relentlessly. 

And then he wraps his hand in her hair and pulls her head back so that he can run his tongue along her neck and the outside of her ear, suckling at the tip. She is nearly undone, whimpering and pushing back into him. 

“Yes,” he breathes, his face at the crook of her neck, “let go for me.” And he reaches down and with the barest brush of his long, clever fingers against her swollen clit she is coming apart, pleasure coursing through her so powerfully that light explodes in the darkness behind her eyelids and she is sobbing with it. 

He wraps his arm around her stomach and pulls her tightly onto him as he reaches his own climax, crying out and slamming his hips into her a last few times. 

She shudders with the aftershocks of her orgasm and feels him throbbing inside her with his. When the crushing waves of sensation cease, they both lean forward across the back of the couch, breathing heavily. 

Eventually he lies down and pulls her alongside him. His repose has returned already, his face unreadable in the lantern light. But she knows now what is underneath it and although most of him is still, she feels his fingertips playing tenderly across her arm. 

A tremendous secret has passed between them and she is unsure what it means.

After they have lain in silence for a time, he sighs deeply and speaks. “The centuries are long Tauriel, and full of sorrow. It does not do to feel too much. It would destroy us. But it is true that an apathy has been growing within the confines of my heart and perhaps I should...reconsider.”

She smiles, turning on her side and laying her arm across his belly, her hand curling along his ribs. She leans against his shoulder, their hair tangled together on the pillows, white-gold and red. In turn he pulls her closer, laying a kiss on the crown of her head, and they return to silence once more. 

She knows in her heart that a change has been set in motion, and suddenly, she can breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome and always very appreciated.
> 
> These characters and settings of course do not belong to me - I only borrowed them for the purpose of smut.


End file.
